Take a breath for the two of us
by NatLaufey
Summary: DONT MIND THE CATEGORY. this doesnt have to do nothing with 'radio dramas' but its kind of a drama and there wasn't one for something senseless like this i guess, im sorry..


_I dont know why im even posting this. is not related to anything. it's a moment. memories from an anonimous character. they are nobody, just passengers that offered themselves for this scene that plopped on my mind in a sleepless night._

_it could be you, if you want. could be anyone, or nobody._

_if you are as nuts as myself to even take a peek at this, i would really like to know your insight._

_*Un-betaed. and i dont say it for spelling errors cause i checked it and all, but im not a native speaker so you know, it could contain -probably- sentences that sound kind of 'weird' i guess. so you have been warned.*_

* * *

The last thing she remembered, or perhaps the only memory she cared to hold, was a sunny morning of Sunday. April was always his favorite time of the year. And no, not because of my birthday he would say, i'm not that cocky he would try. Of course she knew he was not. The teasing was priceless, tho.

It was the sun. The warmness that clung to early mornings as the best welcome of days, it was balanced gracefully with the soft wind like an embrace between the two, as an invitation to a promising journey.

He would always leave the glass up on the night for the curtains to dance through it on the wake of the day, and the breeze would enter with pleasure and thanked you with the ghost of a kiss to your temple.

He said it was vaguely familiar, and she knew it was his mother on the tender gesture playing in his memory.

He smiled that day, as always, sleepy and velvet and bright as the fingers of the sun stroking his face, enlightening the hazel in his eyes to a liquid gold. It was breathtaking, but it was okay. She had learned to command the air to cling her chest for those first seconds of adjustment to reality; yes_, it's him. Yes, he is at my side, smiling, breathing, beautiful. _

Then it was all touches, hands, skin, lips caressing the infinity of it, half-lidded glances with fierce endearment. With love. A sentiment as deep and unspoken as time and memories.

He wouldn't say I love you, and she wouldn't return it. It was pointless, really.

They just knew.

* * *

"You never know" he had shrugged in that unnerving carefree way he used, with that even more unnerving sided smirk, _his trade mark_ chimed her mind resignedly.

Maybe she loved and lived for it, but that he wouldn't know.

He was wrong, she thought that time, and she still holds it. You do know. Or at least, you should.

Everything would have been so much simple. She would have made everything so much different.

_Yes_, she would have said, _yes I will be your wife. _Your partner in crime (she already was). _Anything_, everything you want, just_ yes. _

_No, the money issues don't matter. _Money comes and goes anyway, and you can only use it now. This time. Present. You don't know about the future. You can't plan on unborn days.

She didn't thought about it on that moment.

She does now, all the time.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky that last morning too, and the birds were deathly silent.

Not even wind perturbed the ceremony, she remembered well.

The only sound was the deafening silence drumming in her ears.

Or maybe that was how she chose to recall it, even now, even after years, in the anniversary of his death.

It was a slow pace at her surroundings, that day. People moved like a last heartbeat, achingly calm, barely there.

She couldn't be sure, honestly, she no longer felt her knees in the soft, fresh grass, or the hands in her lap, the numbness of her face as eyes stared without see the grave in front. Maybe it rained all day. Maybe it was the wetness of her tears.

* * *

It was funny in a unique way how they all remembered it.

Well, how you forget the day someone died when it matches the day they were born is kind of unlikely to happen. It's like a fact. A well-known proverb.

At least if you care, she thought.

And she was there, in the same never-changing nature around her, the place frozen in a snowflake of time. The gravestone grey and cold as that same day. The name neatly carved on it, the same. The little curvy frame with picture that she never looked straight to. Green, pure and alive enveloping all, almost mockingly to everything and everyone.

Ah, and there it was too. The same piercing pain. Slashing suddenly through her inner being, inevitable as the rise of the sun and the settle of night everyday.

Some things never change she thought aloud as she put down the muffin with the slim, happy alight candle in the centre of the ground, never rising her eyes from it, never rising a pray.

She was ready to go quickly before the acid wet in her sight could fall to her face when a hand on the shoulder grounded her there.

She didn't want to look, suddenly very self-aware of herself and very tired too. She just wanted to laid here perhaps and rest forever.

The hold was mild but determinate, ever present, and then he was crouching next to her very carefully, as if he _knew_, as if approaching a wounded wild animal she would thought later with a shake of her head, although never denying it.

The strong hand was there yet, warm, reassuring. They all wanted that. They all give it even if she never rested on it, never sought for it.

He was silent, his breathing so palpable to her side, too vital. Noiseless as he was. Cautious.

His presence radiating the imprint of his essence in the atmosphere surrounding her, and she knew. She knew it was him.

She never lifted her eyes, couldn't open them even if she tried. Too risky. Too pointless.

He didn't say anything, and the silence stretched years between them. Millenniums.

She was glad. She didn't feel like talking. Or breathing and here she was, inhaling and exhaling through her nostrils as an after thought.  
-

She heard her name rasped pathetically from his voice and a sigh left her like punched out of her chest at the break of quietude. Her eyes tightened.

_Please_, she pleaded, _please leave me be_.

Probably she never pronounced it as he was now easing his way behind her, the muffled and rough scratching from his knees on the earth trailing along him, though almost perceptible.

Her back tensed involuntary and immediately when his large, marbled arms wrapped her frame. Her eyes snapped open on their own accord, so much time since this, so much time.

And then she was staring at the smile she always dream of, plastered and dull in the rounded photo that she never wanted to look at. It wasn't her smile; it wasn't the living star of warm mornings on cozy sheets at her side. It was an echo of a memory staring back at her, same hazel, sparkly eyes, but just a copy that could never sustain the magnitude at all.

And the tears were falling free and rampant as the rain, the sobs that took residence in her chest since a long time wrecking through it, making a tumultuous path through her throat with the force of nature, nothing holding them anymore, and he was taking it all, the cries, the fierce tremble of her body, holding the two of them like a milestone.

* * *

"You know, I could willingly live here, attached to your arms. Plastered to your chest" she heard herself say after a lifetime, though through a veil.

"I would let you" he said plainly in the most softest of tones she ever heard.

The effect, though, was quite the opposite. Her chest weighed painfully, suddenly full of cold bricks. It was almost unbearable, and she felt the urge to pull away, stand, escape from an embrace that she longed since a long time, that she needed like air and blindly neglected until now, to run away from this warmness and this man that confessed all that she could not return.

He was quiet and soft as the breeze in the far trees as if she wasn't fighting herself to the core, as if he hadn't just released emotional nuclear material between them.

His arms still held her in place, still enclosing her in place like he wouldn't let her go, or trying to convince her of not to, enlisting himself to the battle with her demons.

"Stay" was the last thing she heard, a whisper, a plea, a caress above her ear, almost lost to the world.

Her eyes closed with conviction and a tight desire to never open again.


End file.
